On A Clear Day, You Can See Forever
by libertinium
Summary: The Doctor&Rose land in Brighton, England to see the opening of the Royal Pavilion. But why are the attendees of the ball disappearing? And who keeps calling Rose's name?
1. In Which A Crash Landing Is Inevitable

_First DocWho fanfic. I'm excited about this one. I like writing them, because it entails me doing some actual research. Plus, I get to write Ten's lines. He's the most erratic Doctor ever, for sure, except maybe Four. But Four was constantly hyped up on candy. Ten's just hyped. Must be all that excess energy the Time Vortex gave him._

**Disclaimer, once and for all: **It's not mine. None of it.

The TARDIS' internal workings blinked erratically as the Doctor danced around the control center. Well, it was really more like jumped about while mumbling strange words and half sentences of techno-babble under his breath; all the while, mashing buttons, throwing levers, and spinning knobs.

Rose sometimes laughed at herself for considering the possibility that he actually _was _dancing, in tune to the computer of the TARDIS. In an intricate waltz with the strange symbols flitting across screens and the beeping and whooshing as the ship propelled them across time and space to whatever misguided adventure they were to have next. But it was in the quiet moments, when she allowed her mind to wander to strange possibilities, knowing the Doctor was too preoccupied with his fascinating routine to read her mind or even consider it, that she let herself believe that this tall, unpredictable man in front of her occasionally had a method to his madness.

"Doctor?" she let her voice rise at the end, so that even if he didn't hear the exact word said, he would still realize he'd been asked a question. He glanced over at her, his dark-rimmed glasses sliding down his lightly freckled nose.

"Hm?" his eyes returned the greenish tube of light in front of him as symbols and letters spiraled through it, but Rose had his partial attention now, at the very least.

"Where, um… where are we going?" he turned to stare at her peculiarly.

"I told you that already," she shook her head.

"No, actually. You haven't said a world since we left Epsilon-7," her grin widened a bit as one of his eyebrows crept steadily up his forehead, disappearing partially behind a tussled tuft of hair.

"But… we've been having a conversation this whole time, I was explaining to you all about this particle gun that UNIT created a while back, that took each itty-bitty little particle of whatever its unfortunate victim was an'…" he watched her as she attempted to stifle an audible giggle with her fist.

"You mean to tell me that for three hours, you were having a conversation with YOURSELF?" he couldn't help but smile at himself.

"I get to rambling on… in my head. But you were staring at me intently enough," he rerouted defensively. She smiled and glanced out the small window at the door of the TARDIS.

"So… where are we going, then?" The Doctor's face broke into that goofy grin again.

"Brighton, circa 1800!" Rose raised an eyebrow, obviously missing the connection between Brighton, England and the twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

"Brighton… beach?" He scoffed, spinning another knob.

"Nothing so commercial," his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, "I think I've finally got the date right!"

"What date?"

"Here we go!"

"Doctor!"


	2. In Which TheDoctor Is A Nostalgic Pirate

_Hope you liked the first chapter. This one's a bit longer._

The TARDIS did not appreciate the rough landings to which this new Doctor was prone; and she was especially unappreciative towards the little blond human tangled up in her wiring.

"Bloody hell," Rose grunted, yanking a few heavy cables off her midsection as she pulled herself upright again. The TARDIS buzzed angrily beneath her, sending shivers through her fingers and forearms. "Doctor, what in God's name was that all about?" the ship hummed in agreement. The man in question was tightly gripping a reddish, metal bar fastened to the wall of the console with a devilish grin on his face.

"That was interesting," he mused, crossing the control room in three, tall strides and extending a long, white hand to her. She rolled her eyes and took it ungraciously.

"Yeah, let's go again," she muttered caustically. She did not smile.

"Oh, come on Rose. It wasn't that bad." The TARDIS chose that time to voice its disagreement with the previous statement by dropping one of its ceiling girders a few feet away, metal on metal sounding with a shattering clang. They both winced simultaneously. "Alright, alright!" he recanted, holding his hands up in mock self-defense, "So it wasn't one of my smoothest landings."

Rose grinned, finally, and took hold of both his hands, pulling him toward the door and letting them fall between the pair loosely.

"No, it definitely wasn't," she looked at him curiously, "now, where, exactly are we going, again? And why?" His grin grew wider, still.

"Brighton. To see the opening of the Royal Pavilion!" Obviously this was exciting. To him. This, basically, meant absolutely nothing. Rose's lips quirked into a smile. The man would be excited about toothpaste.

"I see. And what happens at the opening of the Royal Pavilion?" He must have a method to his madness, she reminded herself hopelessly. His eyes twinkled with anticipation.

"It opens!" And with that, her hand had been taken captive and the TARDIS' door thrown wide, the smells of the early 19th century assaulting her nose like an old, but happily forgotten friend.

"Ooh," she groaned as a cart of dead mollusks wheeled by, the smell wafting over her. "Could've gone without that one for a bit." He wasn't listening, though. He was staring off in the distance with that goofy grin on his face again. Past the dirt and god only knows what else-covered streets. Past the beautiful houses and lowly hovels, and out over the ocean that brushed the coast with foam. It was a moment before he was suddenly in motion again, hands buried in his pockets, long strides dwarfing the road beneath him. "Wha… Doctor! Wait up!" she called, running after him.

A few passers-by glanced dubiously at the young girl as she whistled by, but none noticed the maladjusted, blue, police telephone box sitting squarely in the middle of the lane, left by its master again, with but a word.

The beach was near empty, but for a few anglers standing about their small ships. He stopped near the water's edge, his smile sliding from his face a bit. "Same as it was," he murmured, then tilted his head a bit. "Well, will be. In a century or two," he glanced back at the town, quiet and rustic. A young woman in a hoopskirt passed by, laughing with her mother and staring at Rose's blue jeans and red t-shirt with barely veiled contempt. "Ahh… not so much the same, as… completely different." Rose's mouth twisted as she bit down a smile.

"I take it you've been here, before." He looked at her suddenly, as if just noticing she was there. He'd been talking to himself, mostly.

"Uhh, yeah. Once or twice. Well, technically once. Missed by a few miles the first time. Nice lighthouse out on Fang Rock."

"It's pretty," she murmured, speaking of the beach lightly, so as to redirect his thoughts from his obviously distant past. Despite that, he squinted his eyes a bit, as if he could still make the island out on the horizon.

"On a clear day, you can see forever," he said quietly, and Rose jumped, thinking for a moment that he'd read her thoughts as he had a sporadic tendency to do, but he was far away.

"What?" she finally asked.

"On A Clear Day You Can See Forever? Barbra Streisand? Bob Newhart? Great movie." He was discouraged by the lack of understanding on her face. "What do you kids **watch** these days?" Rose smiled.

"Oh, you know, our Rocky XXVIIs and our King Kong remakes. The usual." He shook his head disapprovingly, but then brightened.

"After we leave, I'll take you to watch it in theaters. 1970, Brilliant!" Rose laughed, her tongue poking through her teeth as she smiled.

"I'll bring my bell bottoms." The Doctor smiled, and then his attention was diverted to the fishermen by their ships, and he was headed in their direction in a minute, Rose following at a safe distance, as was usually a good choice when the Doctor took to approaching strangers.

"Avast! Ye scurvy dogs!" The men looked up warily as he raised a hand in greeting. Rose hid her giggle behind her hand and waited for him to finish getting directions. He returned soon after, linked his arm with hers, and pulled her across the street, back to the TARDIS.

"What-?"

"Proper clothes, Rose. You can hardly expect anyone to take you seriously in this, eh?" She stuck out her lower lip glancing at her obviously incongruous outfit.

"Charles Dickens dress, again?" she sighed.

" 'Fraid so."

"Damn. The ribbing hurts like the… dickens."

She winked as she stepped inside the TARDIS, shutting the door tightly and drowning out his retort of: "Cheeky."

_Review, you guys!_


	3. In Which A Typical Exchange Takes Place

A/N: I don't mind that it's short; this is one of my favorite chapters. I love their banter.

"Left here."

"Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure!"

"We've already taken three lefts, Doctor. We're in a circle."

"I'm a Time Lord! Master a' Time and Space! I think I can handle Brighton at night."

"Alright."

"What d'you mean 'alright'?"

"Alright. Fine."

"No, no, no. You've got that look on your face."

"What look? I haven't got a look."

"That look that says 'I don't actually believe him, but I'll just humor the daft, old—' …Ah."

"Ah, what?"

"That lamp post looks familiar."

"Told you so."


	4. In Which Fang Rock Is Ominous

"Where are we?" Rose's fingers brushed the crest of the cold, stone wall lightly, pulling herself up to sit on it with her arms. She could still feel the chill of the brick through the fabric of her dress and shivered, grateful for the cloak that twisted about her in the seaside winds. The Doctor looked about with curious eyes, hands dug deep into his pockets.

"Somewhere between Madeira and…" he glanced around, twisting his entire torso around before smiling, "ah, here we go. Come along, Rose," he called, starting in a new direction. Rose laughed, hopping off the stone wall and turning to follow him. She froze at the sight of a distant light on the horizon, blinking weakly through the fog of the night. It was an eerie green and drove a shudder down her spine when she looked directly at it.

"Rose?" she heard a distant call, it was the Doctor, noticing she wasn't close behind. She tried to answer, tried to tear her eyes from the faint, muted light on the horizon, but came up with neither. She felt his presence behind her, and his soft "ah" of acknowledgement as he saw what held her attention.

"Almost sinister, innit?" he murmured thoughtfully, and for the first time, Rose made the connection between the lighthouse he'd mentioned earlier and the light on the horizon.

"What happened there?" she could practically hear his face darken.

"It was in another life," he replied evasively. The light seemed to blink in response, shadowed by a quickly passing cloud.

"But you remember." He hesitated.

"Yeah, I do," he sighed. "Ohhh… 4th regeneration. One with a penchant for candy and long scarves," a soft laugh, "I had a brilliant companion. None so brilliant as you, of course," Rose heart made a weak, but determined flutter, hating how he could do that to her, "but brilliant all the same." He'd rested his chin on her shoulder by that point, overcome by a strange, uncharacteristic weariness. Rose was silent for a long moment, waiting for him to continue his story. He sighed, "Dreadfully savage, that Leela. But she was bright." His cheeks cut with a smile, one side pressing into her hair. "Now, where was I?"

"The lighthouse," she said quietly. It couldn't be helped that she felt a little jealous when he brought up his previous companions. Especially the women.

"Oh, yes. Fang Rock. Ghastly event, really. Leela and I barely escaped with our lives," he grimaced, "everyone else was killed." Rose inhaled sharply. She hated those times. It brought her back shortly, to a happier event, when the Doctor still had wiggly ears and a hard edge in his stare; World War II Britain and the little boy in the gas mask. He'd been the happiest, saying those words "everybody lives". She never wanted him to have to say anything different. "But, it hasn't even happened yet, I suppose."

"She lived, then?" she asked finally, voicing the unsaid concern that had been in her head since he'd embarked on the story. It was not one of those stories of his past companions' deaths; on of the ones that brought out that cheerless part of the Doctor's personality that chilled Rose to the bone. He laughed a short, ironic laugh.

"Yes, that day she did. Although she's dead by now. She went to live on Gallifrey, you know," his laugh was a bit less stressed at the thought of this. "Fell in love." There seemed to be something left unsaid in this, a weight on the conversation that Rose often felt while talking to him. And then the chin on her shoulder was gone, taking his familiar warmth with it. "Anyhow, places to go, people to see, that sort of thing," he redirected with an enlivened hop. Rose smiled and wrenched her eyes from the fading light on the horizon with a feeling almost akin to regret.

"Who, exactly, are we going to see?" she asked, following him across the street.

"Why, The Prince Regent, of course!"

"Who?"

"You may know him as King George the… fourth, was it? Mind you, I've no head for all your human dictators and their unimaginative names."

"Hold on a bit; King George? The fat one, with all the wives?"

"Well, that'd be just about every king you've had since the start of the monarchy, but yeah, let's go with that." The Doctor kicked a stray rock, his hands deep in his pockets, and Rose smiled. "He's a bit younger now, a bit stupider, too. In love with a lady named Mrs. Fitzherbert. Lovely woman. Unfortunate last name." The palace lights twinkled up ahead and Rose felt a strangely anxious pull to the beautiful building.


	5. In Which The Doctor Sings Badly

"Oi! What you two doin', kickin' about here?" A guard materialized from a darkened alley as the lights of the palace came into view. Rose had barely time to exhale in wonderment at the sight of the beautiful estate before them. He was young, a hard-jawed 20, and examined the Doctor's pinstriped suit and black and white trainers with a curious intrigue.

"Oh, sorry. Did we stumble in the wrong way?" The Doctor held up his slightly psychic paper with practiced composure. "We're here for the opening: the Doctor plus one," his hand reached back to firmly grip Rose's upper arm and pull her forward, "she's my plus one." Rose bit down a grin at the familiar words. The guard examined the slightly psychic paper as it displayed the proper documents before nodding slowly.

"Right. The ball's not 'til tomorrow evening. Th' Prince Regent has supplied rooms in the palace for th' guests, of course. Head up th' road a bit, there's a carriage to take you ta your quarters. An' I suggest putting your…" he glanced at Rose and she was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that her clothes were that of a commoner; low-necked, tight-fitting commoner. "…_escort _in more suitable garments," he caught sight of the Doctor's amused face, "respectfully, of course, sir."

"I'm sure," the Doctor replied, flipping the slightly psychic paper closed and dropping the leather wallet into his pocket. "Come now, Rose. Wouldn't want to miss the festivities." Rose nodded politely to the guard before hurrying off behind him.

"Doctor, what was that all about?" his amused grin hadn't left his face. "What did he mean by _escort_?"

"Ahh, nothing that a nice gown can't fix up. I'd forgotten how…" he glanced at the dress for a minute, his eyes lingering a little too long on the smooth skin of her neck "…nice that dress was."

Rose blushed. He seemed to pull himself out of whatever thought he'd had.

"Right! Anyroad, we wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. I'll go back to the TARDIS later tonight and find you something," he turned his attention to the Pavilion as it loomed in the distance. "Brilliant, isn't it?" She could only nod. "Indian architecture, brand new. The inside's not even been refurbished yet. Won't need to be for 10 years." He took a deep breath, as if committing the air to memory. "One of my favorite pieces of your human engineering." Rose watched the Doctor as he smiled lightly. It was not his usual smile, all teeth and gums and mischief; this one was soft and almost wistful.

"Doctor?" she began, he turned his head, but a carriage rode up to greet them, the driver flashing her the same degrading leer as the guard. He closed the door behind them and she did not continue he question. Instead, the Doctor jabbered on excitedly about the minute aspects of the Pavilion's architecture, from its pointed spires and poor iron framework to the history of the Prince Regent's stay in the farmhouse that the building used to be.

Rose contented herself to listening to the lull of his voice, rising and falling and skipping with the wheels on the cobblestone path.

"…wait 'til you see the inside. Simply amazing. Ooh, look at all those minarets! 26, in all. Can you imagine that? 26! You know how many are on the Taj Mahal? 4! This has 26! Truly an exercise in the extravagance of the English, if anything. Ooh, is that a fountain…?" The rocking motion of the carriage was a happy divergence from the TARDIS's usual steadiness. It was sometimes disconcerting, rocketing through time and space without even feeling it.

"…can't believe it, Sir Robert Peel is here! Created your modern police system, you know! Moreover, his name rather reminds me of a banana. Peel. Fun to say, innit? Ba-na-na peeeeeeeeel…" Rose hid a smile, readjusting the folds in her skirt self-consciously. It had been bad enough that the people walking the road that day had given her strange looks when she was wearing her street clothes, at least then they didn't quite know what to make of her. But now, in this dress, they were not just curious eyes anymore. They were knowing ones. Judgmental ones. They looked at her as if they had her all figured out; a call girl, an escort, a courtesan, call it what you will. Rose sighed quietly and shook her hair out to hide her mortified expression.

"Stop." She froze at the abruptness of the Doctor's word, realizing that he had fallen silent a moment before without her noticing. His hand was suddenly brushing away her hair. "Rose, stop."

"Wha…?" she began to protest, but the sad look on his face told her that it was useless to deny what she'd been thinking. She flushed with embarrassment and looked out the window again, vividly aware of his hand resting on her collarbone.

"Don't mind them. A product of their time. Two centuries from now and those girls sneering at you out there would be wearing those little short shorts they're so fond of prancing around in," Rose smiled lightly, trying to imagine the Doctor's reaction to the Soffe shorts she kept sitting on her dresser at home, but stopped abruptly, remembering that he'd only read her mind a moment ago and could do so again at any time.

"S'not… I'm fine," she turned to face him, finally, brushing away a tear before it formed. "It just hit a chord, s'all." He gave her a peculiar look, trying to understand what she meant. Rose diverted her thoughts to something abstract, desperate to avoid his probing talent, and the Doctor's face turned from pensive to amused.

"The lyrics to _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_? Really?" Rose laughed, happy for a change in topic.

"Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly;" she half-sung, her voice breaking a bit in a whisper. The Doctor grinned.

"The girl with kaleidoscope eyes," he rejoined. Rose raised an eyebrow. "What?" he said defensively. She laughed.

"That was really, very terrible."

"Was not!"

"Yes it was! You didn't even sing it in tune!"

"You can hardly blame me! I haven't heard the song for decades."

"There is no excuse for that HORRID voice, Doctor. Just admit that this regeneration simply has a terrible singing voice."

"The Great Circling Poets of Arium would've thought it was fantastic!" Rose rolled her eyes.

"You couldn't carry a tune with a bucket, Doctor." He smiled sheepishly.

"Okay, yeah. I was pretty awful," Rose laughed with him, "really, I mean 900+ years, and you'd think I'd get one regeneration who could sing decent!" She smiled and pushed her hair out of her face, the carriage pulling to a stop at the foot of the sprawling palace. The Doctor looked at her with soft eyes. "Really, though, Rose," she glanced up as the coachman opened the door for them, the Doctor smiled lightly, "you look lovely."

She hid her blush as she climbed from the carriage, staring up at the huge palace in awe. The building really did make her heart pound. And it wasn't just because the Doctor had linked his hand with hers once again.


	6. In Which TheDoctor Is Rude Twice!

A/N: AAAAAAH! I'm so sorry it's been several days since I've posted! AP classes have occupied me with the whole eating-my-soul thing. I'll be better, I promise. I've already delved myself into the next chapter. Anyhow: enjoy.

"This is fantastic, innit?" crowed the Doctor, swinging his shoulders about loosely as he looked about the aptly name Great Hall. Rose's eyes traced the elaborate gilding that sprawled across the ceiling in ornate designs and curlicues that meandered their way leisurely down the towering walls like slow-moving rivers. The tiled floor clacked underneath the heels of her boots, echoing down the big room, towards the set of grand staircases that extended from the north wall.

"It's a bit much," she answered truthfully.

The Doctor laughed loudly, the sound seeming hollow in the immensity of the room, "Ah, right. You're used to your mum's cramped little flat," he paused, "Ooh, that was rude of me, wasn't it?"

Rose shot him a glare. "It's a perfectly good flat, I'll have you know. Much better than a man living in a telephone box."

"As I recall, you were the one who chose the telephone box over the flat," he leaned toward her slightly, bumping his shoulder with hers, as was a habit of his, to show the jest was all in good fun. Rose smiled.

"Can you imagine the mortgage on a place like this?" she asked, remembering, suddenly, a past conversation on an impossible planet. The Doctor grinned.

"I'd be stuck making payments for at least three more regenerations."

Rose rolled her eyes, "Har, har."

A maid had appeared at the foot of the stairs at some point and curtsied as they approached. "Sir Doctor? Your quarters are ready for you," the Doctor cocked an eyebrow as the maid moved further away, beckoning them up the stairs.

"Well, seems like someone made reservations," Rose's eyes widened and she hesitated beside him at the foot of the steps.

"What d'you mean? Like they were expecting us?" The Doctor smiled at her reassuringly.

"I wasn't always the only Time Lord in the universe, Rose. I'm sure Romana decided to grant me a going away present or two from our travels," but his eyes narrowed a bit as he turned to follow the maid.

"Awful lot of guards about, aren't there?" The young woman glanced back at the Doctor nervously after they passed a seventh door with a guard posted outside.

"Er… yes, sir. It's just a precaution. There are many important people here, after all. The Prince Regent prefers to be… whatsit? 'Better safe than sorry'." The Doctor smiled at the maid's words.

"Quite right. I imagine that's not the only reason, eh?" he grinned in the guise of cheeky camaraderie that Rose had become so fond of, and the maid's eyes lit with the excitement of a schoolgirl with a secret.

"We're not supposed to say anything to the guests," she replied, only half-sincerely. The Doctor's interest was officially peaked.

"All the more reason to tell," he challenged. The young woman bit her lip, considering a moment.

"Oh, alright." Rose hid a laugh in a light cough. The Doctor truly had a habit of bringing out the bubbly gossip in everyone. The maid led them around another corner, into a long, darker hall of doors without guards outside them yet. "They say that some of the guests have gone…" she paused, leaning into the light of the candle she held in her hands, a dramatic pause that lingered a bit too long for Rose's taste, "missing." The Doctor broke what was supposed to be a tense silence with a brusque laugh that sounded a bit forced.

"Is that all? I was sure it was something scandalous!" The girl looked disappointed by his reaction.

"Mistress Fitzherbert swears she saw a shadow in her dressing room the other night," she added, grasping at his attention again, "screamed loud enough to raise the dead, I say." But the Doctor merely nodded, turning his attention to the door they'd stopped at. The young woman handed him the key rather downheartedly, "Right, well, if you need anything, just ring the bell near the window. I'll be up in a jiff." The Doctor gave her a curt nod and opened the door without a word, leaving the two women in the hallway alone. Rose shot the maid an apologetic smile. "Did I say something wrong?" the girl whispered meekly.

Rose laughed fondly, "not at all. He gets like this sometimes."

"Like what?" asked the girl in a hushed tone, watching the Doctor's turned back, only a few yards away, carefully. Rose shook her head, knowing the Doctor was already wrapped up in his thoughts.

"Rude," she said with a smile, bading goodnight to the girl and shutting the door behind her.


	7. In Which The Doctor Has A Cattle Prod

The Doctor was on his hands and knees when she entered the room, head craned under the pretty, mahogany vanity that rested against the left wall.

"You know, some cultures consider it socially acceptable to actually say goodbye to someone after a conversation with them, instead of just walking off without a word." There was a distinct thump on the underside of the desk as the Doctor jumped at her voice, sounding exactly as Rose would imagine a Time Lord's skull would when colliding with wood. She heard a low, rhythmic hiss of noise that sounded a bit like a word in his ancient tongue that the TARDIS had the dignity not to translate.

"Sorry, were we in a conversation?" he asked, rolling back from under the desk to sit on his haunches. He rubbed the back of his head gingerly as he looked up at her.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Not me, you big dolt. That poor girl. She thought she'd insulted you in some way, what with you spacing out like that." He stared at her for a moment; his hand paused behind his head and his lips moving slightly as if he was repeating her words silently.

"The girl? Oh, the girl!" He frowned for a second. "Right. Sorry about that," he finally answered sheepishly. Rose raised an eyebrow at him, pursing her lips together as he went back to his examinations of the underside of the desk.

"Is there anything that I should know, Doctor?" He pulled his head out again, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out something that looked a bit like a cattle prod.

"Ohhh… nothing much. Well…" he tipped his head, still not shifting his eyes from the two-pronged implement as he calibrated a few knobs, "…maybe. Ah… probably… Anyroad!" with that, his head ducked beneath the desk again and a strange glow erupted from the shadowed depths, sparks shooting out sporadically. "AHA!" he suddenly cried, leaping back from the vanity and conking his head again as he stood, holding the cattle prong much like a medieval broadsword, "En garde!"

Rose jumped back, looking desperately for something to block whatever was going to emerge from beneath the desk, undoubtedly a slimy, green alien with several thousand eyes, knowing the Doctor. Instead, a wisp of smoke spat out after a moment, puttering upwards and dispersing into the air as if it had never existed. The fizzling of the cattle prod-looking device suitably narrated the anticlimactic nature of the scene.

"Hm," muttered the Doctor, "that definitely wasn't on my short list of expected results." Rose set her jaw.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she cried, "Is there any particular reason you've gone away with the mixer, or am I just to assume this is another one of your regular habits now?!" He didn't answer her for a beat, glancing down at the smoking instrument in his hand.

"That's probably not a good sign, is it? Smoke." Rose sighed, exasperated, and he finally looked at her. "Right. You."

She groaned, "Yes, me, Doctor! Tell me what's going on!"

"Ahh…" he glanced down at the silent prod again, "nothing, actually." Rose crossed her arms. "No! Really," he pleaded. "Look," he held up the device in his hand, waving it a bit, "putting it away, see?" he dropped it into his pocket and held up both his hands to show he had nothing to hide, shooting her his patented toothy grin.

She couldn't help smiling back at him. He held out one of his hands to her, a silent apology, and she took it with her own, letting him pull her into a one-armed hug. He rested his chin on the top of her head and she breathed in the smell of his lapel, a musky, woody scent. Her smile softened at the quiet understanding that came over them. A silent language of their own.

"Doctor?" she spoke after a few moments, her sane side finally overcoming the impossibly stubborn, wanting to be near him at all costs-side.

"Mm?"

"What, exactly, were you looking for, anyway?"

He paused for a moment, and then sighed. "Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity. That device I had out was an E-gauge. Useful little thing. Not as useful as the sonic screwdriver, of course, but useful. Cooks up a mean omelet when the need arises; but, its primary function is to measure Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity. It would be coming from the west wall, if at all. But I got nothing. " Rose nodded, letting him pull away to sit on the orate bed that took up nearly a fourth of the square room. He ran a hand through his hair. "There's still something not quite right about this place."

"D'you think it has something to do with those people disappearing?" she asked, sliding down the wall behind her and bringing her knees up to her chin. The Doctor nodded.

"More than likely. People randomly disappearing and unexplained shadows never usually bode well."

Rose grinned, "Not around us, anyway."

He smiled darkly. "No. Not around us."


	8. In Which Mark Twain Is Quoted

The ball of what LOOKED like twine shot up toward the ceiling, hit it with a thump, and flattened into a star shape, flashing bright, neon colors, before rolling into its original shape and falling back into the Doctor's palm. He rolled his wrist and tossed it upwards again. Rose closed her eyes, listening to the rhythmic -thump, smack- of the exercise. An "aural gatxerser", he had called it. Made for the simple function, unlike most of his alien tech, of distracting himself while he thought.

It had to be about 11:30 when he finally shot up from his position on the mattress, lying on his back with his long legs dangling awkwardly off the end. Rose's head lifted from her knees with his sudden movement.

"What is it? Did you figure something out?" she asked, the excited twinkle in his eye making the question more rhetorical than anything.

"Yes, I did."

"And what's that?"

He grinned, "I figured out that I don't know enough to figure anything out yet."

"Oh, that's very helpful, Doctor," Rose groaned.

"Actually, it is. It means we get to do some detective work," he jumped to his feet excitedly

Rose stifled a yawn, "Tonight?"

"Yes, of course tonight!" he cried, exasperatedly. "We have to start before anyone else disa-…" he was cut off by a heavy knock on the door. He held a finger up when she started to stand, keeping it in place in the air as he leaned over to throw his voice toward the door. "Yes, who is it?"

"Benjamin Fenhouse, sir. Th' guard from earlier?" the Doctor smiled, opening the door.

"Benjamin, m'boy! What can I do you for?" the young guard blinked, unsure in the face of the man's welcoming tone.

"Jus' wanted to let you an' th' Missus know that th' Lord Prince Regent's enacted a curfew fer tonight. Jus' a precaution," he scratched the back of his neck with one hand, leaving the other squarely by his side. The Doctor nodded.

"Ah, a precaution. We've heard that word being thrown about. What are we precautioning against, as such?" the guard's eyes hardened, and Rose could tell that even the Doctor's cheeky charms would have no effect on the hardnosed man.

"Nothing, sir. Jus' bein' careful's all," he replied. The Doctor seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Rose and nodded.

"Right-o. Well, we appreciate the warning. Carry on," he smiled, but it was less hospitable than before. The guard nodded curtly and the Doctor did not wait until he had turned away to close the door.

Rose smiled, "are we going anyway, Inspector?" The Doctor glanced down at the aural-gatx-whatever thoughtfully.

"To the contrary, Lewis," he replied, adopting his best Oxfordshire accent, "I doubt the guilty party will strike again, what with all its victims shut up," but the man's face was contemplative and Rose could tell he was up to something.

"Right," she muttered. He bobbed his head, his pensive expression gone so quickly that anyone else would have doubted it was even there to begin with.

"Right!" he repeated, grinning, "You should get some sleep tonight, Lewis. Long day tomorrow, and all that." Rose glanced at the singular bed in the room.

"Where're you going to sleep?" she turned her face a bit to hide the blush that crept into her cheeks, but her effort was wasted, as his attention was already turned toward the window as he dropped the ball of twine into his pocket. He craned his neck as he moved toward the windowsill, resting the tips of his longest three fingers on the glass. Rose blinked. For a split second, the glass had seemed to pulse under his fingertips, a circular wrinkle rippling outwards from his hand like it was water.

"Don't be silly, Rose; Time Lords hardly have to sleep as often as you humans." Rose rolled her eyes. How was it, that even when he was obviously preoccupied, he could be capable of being such a pretentious twit? "Right, I'll just shoot down to the TARDIS and get us both a change of clothes for tomorrow," he avowed cheerily. And before Rose could open her mouth to ask how, exactly, he planned on getting down to the TARDIS with the curfew in effect, he'd thrown the window wide and swung his legs over the sill.

"DOCTOR!" she gasped, as he dropped out of sight. Her heart skipped a beat as she rushed to the window, where the curtains billowed out in the seaside breeze.

A grinning head of untamed, brown hair and wiggly eyebrows reappeared suddenly. "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he quoted. "You know who said that? Mark Twain. American fellow. Brilliant. Bit racist," he made a signal with his forefinger looping around his ear as if 'racist' was synonymous with 'nutter'. Rose sighed, grasping her left wrist with her other hand, half to check her pulse, partly to stop herself from slapping him silly for scaring her like that. She thought, for a single, wild moment, that the Doctor had somehow figured out a way to defy gravity (she wouldn't put it past him), but then the dark surface if the sloping roof materialized beneath him, glinting dully in the moonlight. He winked, "Back in a jiff!"

The sound of his trainers sliding down the gritty slope made her laugh a little. "Blimey, one of these days, I'm going to go into cardiac arrest because of that one. Then we'll see how good of a doctor he is," she smile lightly. The CPR part of that scenario didn't sound half bad.


	9. In Which The Doctor Helps The Elderly

The guard outside the palace was spread thin, most units busy protecting the inhabitants from internal threats. Scaling down the rooftop and tumbling into a pile of hay that was much harder than it looked reminded the Doctor that he was not as young as he used to be. Even in this more youthful form, he could feel the trials of time on his ancient bones. His 10th regeneration. Bugger, he was getting old.

The courtyard was relatively quiet, save for the soft whispers that drifted from the windows above; fragments of private conversations. The Doctor was sorely reminded of a certain castle in Transylvania in which the courtyard was specifically designed as an amphitheatre, making those who walked its cobbled paths able to hear the words spoken in the rooms above. Never insult anyone with the words "the impaler" in their name, he mentally reminded himself.

He couldn't resist pulling out the E-Gauge again, just to have another go at pinning down the eerie feeling the walls of the palace gave him. The place didn't seem… right. Not exactly wrong; just… off, somehow.

The entire structure was new; for that moment in time, anyway. But the skeleton of the thing, running through the walls, through the floors… it pulsed with this sort of ancient energy that was too eternal for this country, even with all Britain's talk of everlasting glory. It was too old for the Earth. He shivered, rolling his shoulders in tight circles in the cold, open air of the coast.

The E-Gauge fizzled once again and the Doctor had to smile. Insanity, as defined by old Al Einstein, was "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

Brilliant, even the man with troll doll hair thought he was daft.

It was a short enough walk down the scaled hill that raised the palace's east wall, and he was into the streets of Brighton. He skipped a bit on the cobblestones, to erase the ominous silence that permeated the area like a cloak, and his thoughts drifted to Rose, still in the palace.

He hadn't exactly told her to stay put, which, if he had, would invariably assure him that she would NOT. They never, ever did. No matter how many time he'd proven that his word was to be trusted in matters of this sort, they would always ignore this instruction, to the point where he could effectively RELY on them disobeying it. Bloody humans, he thought with a smile.

In fact, he half-hoped she wouldn't stay put, if only out of a selfish wish to get this whole matter worked out and done with before his chance to meet with the Prince Regent. It was late. 10:59:52 pm, Greenwich Mean Time. 10:59:57, now. He paused, and a beat later, the chiming of the old clock that towered from the courthouse chimed eleven strokes. He couldn't help but smirk, though no one was around to see it.

The streets were vacant, the only source of light, the fully dilated moon and the familiar stars, the low angle of the former casting gangling shadows on the roads. And despite the fact that he'd faced down werewolves, dinosaurs, cybermen, daleks, autons, and ghosts, and he could hardly be counted among those afraid of a simple human mugger, he kept a hand in his pocket, his fingers wrapped securely around his sonic screwdriver. The maid's words: "better safe that sorry" came to mind.

An old woman stood, huddled, under a streetlight as he turned a corner, bundled in a dark grey shawl of heavy wool. She looked up at him as he approached, her eyes gleaming and eerie blue in the dark.

"Oh. Oh dear, young man?" he let go of the choke hold he'd had on the sonic screwdriver, nodding to the woman, "Could you please help me, young man? I was on my way home from my granddaughter's house, and it just gets so dark this time of year. My old eyes are absolutely useless in the dark. Blind as a bat, they say," the Doctor smiled and took the wrinkled, old hand she offered.

He had told Rose that he'd be back soon, but that was really just to make her think twice about trying to sneak a look around. He had been planning to spend the night in the TARDIS anyway. The truth was, he didn't fancy spending a night watching Rose Tyler's sleeping form in that big, empty bed. Well, strike that. He fancied it. He'd even done so, on occasion. Watched her sleep. But that was really just to make sure she was… still… breathing.

Right. He was never a very good liar. Not in this regeneration. He could barely fool himself; and he had no reason not to trust himself.

Well, it wouldn't have been right. Watching her sleep in that big, empty bed. Her single sleeper on the TARDIS hardly had room for two. But in that big, empty bed, he'd be too tempted to crawl close. To… better be assured that she was breathing. No. He would not spend the night with Rose Tyler. Sleeping or otherwise. That was something he'd decided a long time ago. He nodded to the old woman, shaking the thought out of his head.

"How do you do? I'm the Doctor."


	10. In Which Rose Hears Disembodied Voices

A/N: new chapter! Sorry it took a bit. I've been trying to update consistently, but it seems to be coming in bursts and flashes. Ah well, enjoy. Oh, and I really appreciate your reviews! I'll be replying from now on, which I should've been doing from the beginning, but thanks for them anyway. Cheers.

Rose flipped to her back, the squashy feather down of the mattress making every movement as difficult as wading through water. She would never take another box spring for granted. The Doctor had been gone for a while now, and she wondered how far away the TARDIS was. They had walked for a long time that evening, but that was not a direct route; they'd spent the day combing the marketplace and walking along the beach.

She smiled, softly, her fingertips gingerly resting on the pretty piece of blue kimberlite they'd found in the sand. The string the Doctor had produced from his pocket, a bit of neon orange thread that looked more at home on a child's painted macaroni necklace than holding the dully-glinting stone that rested on her collarbone, itched a bit, but for some inane reason or another, she refused to take it off.

The wind knocked a stray branch across the window, and Rose sat up straight, half-hoping it was the Doctor. Okay, no. Fully hoping it was him.

The branch stuck a bit to the glass, wet leaves just barely clinging on, before it slid away and disappeared into the night. She sighed, pressing her nose to the glad and letting her breath fog up the window. He wasn't going to come back that night. She'd known that since he'd hopped out the window.

"Oomph," she muttered, trying to stand up. The skirts of her dress tangled about her legs and she tumbled off the soft mattress and onto the hard floor. He was off, somewhere in the palace, investigating whatever was going on, and she was stuck here, alone.

"Rose."

A chill shot up her spine and her head snapped around. Had she said alone? She meant alone except for the disembodied voice.

"Who's there?" she shot a glance at the vanity, but it looked just as harmless as before. She bit her lip and looked around for something long and heavy to swing.

"Rose," was the only reply. The voice was distorted, like a whisper or a muffled shout. It hit her then that the Doctor was the only one who knew her name here. The "reservations" had all been made in the Doctor's name, by a previous companion who had had no knowledge of her. Logic would lead her to believe that it was the Doctor calling out to her for help. However, with the Doctor, logic was usually always wrong. Nevertheless, she couldn't just sit there if it was him.

The hall was dark when she stepped outside, lit only by a long row of candles along the walls. She pulled one from a holster, cupping her hand about the flame to prevent it from blowing out. Which way?

"Rose…" the voice called, its resonance lilting a bit eerily.

"Quit it," she snapped, irritated, "If you're going to go all ghost-y on me, at least tell me which way to go." The voice was silent for a long moment, and Rose craned her neck out to see what was down the long hallway.

"Left," came a soft reply. Rose rolled her eyes, turning left and walking quickly down the hall, the fabric of her billowing skirts whispering against the wall as she pressed against it.

"'bout time," she muttered. "Now, where'm I going, anyway? Dungeon? Courtyard? Or will I just know it when I see it?" She shivered in the dank air of the passage, wishing for the warmth of the covers and the bed warmer.

"The star must be unveiled."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "I must unveil the what, now?"

But the voice was silent.

Rose groaned. Stupid Doctor and his stupid vague clues and his stupid disembodied voices. The candle cast flickering shadows on the dark wall and Rose felt a shiver run up her spine; this time, not from the cold. The hallway started to get a bit brighter after a while, though Rose noted that it was not from the same sort of intermittent, yellowish light that the candles provided. It was an even, bluish light, like a halogen bulb.

The gilding of the walls snaked the hallways like a branch of some enormous, golden tree. Rose's feet squished into the soft, rich carpeting and she was almost glad she had forgotten her boots, despite the cold air. Almost.

Rose stopped short as it finally became apparent what was creating the eerie, blue lighting.

A pretty, young woman in a white gown stood staring at her at the next corner. She was completely still, and her eyes were emanating a brilliant light, shooting outwards like headlights. Rose took a second to unstick her tongue from the top of her mouth.

"Are… are you alright?" The woman with the headlight eyes just stared at her, her mouth clamped shut. "Right, of course you're not. Are you in pain?" she stepped closer, "who did this to you?" The woman's lips opened and, at first, Rose thought it was to answer, but after a second, she came to the horrible realization that the blue light was shooting from the woman's mouth, too. Rose stumbled backward, but the glow had turned into a concentrated beam of light and she couldn't see a thing. She tripped over the hem of her skirt and tumbled backwards, an oddly detached feeling blanketing her. She barely heard the distinct -crack- her skull made as it collided with the wall.

A low moan sounded and it took her a while to realize it was her own. "Doctor…" she whispered, letting the dark sleep of unconsciousness take her. Her last coherent thought was _Blimey, this is going to hurt in the morning._


	11. In Which There Is Gross Detail

A/N: Baugh… I'm getting sick. Enjoy!

The Doctor noticed with a restrained unease that the number of lanterns lining the street had been steadily decreasing as they walked, signaling their descent into a poorer sector of the city. A more dangerous one. A few pubs and cathouses were open, bringing with them the presence of streams of drunken men and laughing women. The old woman trod quietly behind him, listening to his characteristically nervous babbly politely.

"So tell me about your granddaughter," was she anything like his own? "It's nice that you've gone all this way just to visit her," although he would have had to go much farther to visit Susan. "I hope she appreciates it." The Doctor winced. If only he could see Susan again. He wouldn't even care if she appreciated it or not.

He paused as he realized that the woman had directed him down an alleyway, wedged between two stone buildings. The only light was an ethereal blue glow from behind him. He glanced up at the moon, hanging oppressively low. But not behind him. "Right… that's a bit odd," he murmured, turning to face the woman.

Only she wasn't there. Not really. Her body was there. But as soon as he caught sight of her eyes, luminous with a brilliant, blue radiance, he could tell she had not been in control of her mind for quite some time. Possibly the entirety of their encounter. The Doctor stepped back.

"What are you?" he asked, pulling the sonic screwdriver out warily. The old woman's body stepped forward. "What are you?" he repeated, jumping slightly as the E-Gauge whistled in his pocket. He switched the screwdriver to his right hand, never taking his eyes off the woman as they stepped further into the alley tensely. He grimaced as his back hit a wall. The E-Gauge in his hand was going wild. The Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity reading was off the chart. "Last warning," he cautioned, holding the screwdriver at an arm's length in the space between them. "Indentify yourself!"

The old woman's mouth opened wide and the Doctor ducked nimbly out of the way as a beam of light shot directly at where his head had been, spreading out along the flat surface like a high-powered jet of water. "Oi! Watch where you point that thing!" He watched, revolted, as her mouth opened wider and her face crinkled back like a hood, light pouring out. Her external body slipped off like a silk robe, gathering on the ground in a puddle of skin and wool.

The light hitting the surfaced slowed, rolling back in on itself to form an elliptical, blue orb with a tail of light trailing behind it as it zigzagged and shot at his head again. He ducked, spouting off a blast of sonic to freeze the orb. "Last chance," he seethed, stepping closer, "you can't survive without a host, can you?" The orb hummed angrily. "That's what I thought. A parasite. Kreoline, if I'm not mistaken." The orb was silent. "What's your game? The Kreoline travel in pods of twenty. Where are the rest of your number?" The Kreoline parasite did not reply.

The old woman had been near the palace. Why would the Kreoline lead him all the way out here only to infect him? They stayed together, the Kreoline, only separating for the direst of circumstances. And then he understood. It was not to infect him. They knew what he was. This particular Kreoline was on a suicide mission. This Kreoline's duty was to lead him away from where the rest were. He finally confronted the thought that had been running through his mind since the alien had unveiled itself.

"They're in the palace," he whispered. The orb shrieked at his realization, struggling against its invisible, sonic cage but it was no use. The parasite was already growing weaker, glowing only faintly not. The Doctor turned on his heel, sprinting back up the alley and grabbing hold of a lamppost to swing himself around the corner. He had to get back to the palace. Rose was there. He couldn't let Rose become a… he swallowed dryly… a puddle of flesh like that poor woman. The cobblestones sounded hollowly under the soles of his trainers and a few women shrieked as he flew past. The blinking lights of the Royal Pavilion seemed too far away, and he sincerely hoped that nothing had happened to Rose. Dammit. He never should have left her alone.


	12. In Which Bri Fails At Accents

I felt the need to share a hilarious anecdote with you that just exemplifies the fact that EVERYTHING in my life is just intrinsically connected to the point where it's insane. I was watching Bill Maher's "Religulous" (fantastic movie, if you ever get a chance to watch it. Simply fantastic.) and there was a clip in there with some Scientologist speaking in a park. Honestly, I didn't pay attention to him until he started talking about the Thetons. Yes, Thetons. Apparently, they're alien beings that live in our bodies. And if we don't get them out, something bad happens to us. And do you know how you detect them? An "E-meter". Sound familiar? I think my Theton is a gabby Theton that likes to give all my ideas to Tome Cruise. Stupid, gossiping aliens.

My life is weird. I like it =). Enjoy! (And thanks so much for your reviews! They make my day!)

---

"Oi! Look over here."

"Who's she?"

"Doesn't look like she belongs here. Probably a peasant moll hopin' to meet some rich bloke."

"I told th' Prince Regent it waddn't smart, takin' the guard off the outside. Leaves us open to this twaddle."

"C'mon, let's get her down to the holding cell before any of the lady guests are offended."

---

Rose groaned, her head pounding like a jackhammer had fastened itself to her skull.

"Blimey, she's waking up." Her eyes flew open at the voice, but she couldn't see anything. She felt her arms being tugged violently, as if she was being dragged.

"W-who…?" she murmured. But then she remembered the girl in the white dress. And the blue lights. "Lemme go!" She snapped, thrashing as the hands pulled her more harshly. "Git'offa me!" one of her forearms broke free and she swung it blindly, colliding with someone's face.

He grabbed at her arm again and caught her near the elbow. She absolutely refused to be dragged off god knows where by god knows who so they could do god knows what. The girl had been an alien, she had supposed that much. And she still couldn't see. She found one of their hands near her face and clamped down on it with her teeth. He let out a howl.

"Whore!" And she felt a hard fist collide with her cheek, falling unconscious for the second time that night. BLIMEY, this was going to hurt in the morning.

---

It was the yelling that woke her this time. Muffled by something, but definitely there.

"Doctor?" Bugger, her head hurt. The voices fell silent. "Doctor!" she called. A door opened somewhere. Why couldn't she see?

"You were th' girl who came with th' Doctor?" She tried to focus in on the figure who'd spoken, but everything was so fuzzy, now. A strong hand took her upper arm and she winced, but whoever it was was gentler this time, as they helped her to a sitting position. The stone floor was cold beneath her hands and she shivered.

The being in front of her faded in and out of focus. It looked human enough. But then, so did that girl. She set her jaw. They were looking for the Doctor, then.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any doctors."

This made the man pause. Then she felt a hand cupping her chin and turning her face right and then left.

"Yeah, y'are. I recognize ya. You're th' girl with that odd bloke who arrived t'night. I warned you about the curfew, didn' I?" And then Rose placed the vaguely familiar voice.

"Fenhouse? Benjamin Fenhouse?" The guard from earlier. Was he in on the alien plot, too? The haze that her head had been in was starting to clear. She could see his indistinct facial features now, green eyes, dark eyebrows, hard jaw.

"You remembered my name," there was a hint of surprise in his voice. She nodded and then winced because it hurt to move her head.

"What do you want with the Doctor?" she asked, still defensive. It didn't matter whether she knew him or not. She'd been dragged, punched, and temporarily blinded. She wasn't that trusting.

"What? Nothing. It's jus' that th' two idjits out there thought y'were…" he paused, obviously uncomfortable explaining the situation, "well, anyway. What were you doing, out this late? Th' curfews fer everyone. It's fer yer protection, y'know." Rose shifted, lifting a hand to gingerly feel the prominent bump forming on the back of her head. "Quite an egger, innit?" he asked cheerfully. Rose grimaced.

"What are you trying to protect us against, exactly?" A crinkle appeared just above his slightly crooked nose and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Nothing. Jus' a precaution," he replied firmly.

"Yeah, you said that before," she muttered. He was hiding something. He knew more than the maid from earlier had and he was dead set on keeping it a secret. "I'm assuming the 'idjits' you were talking about were the ones who dragged me here?" he flinched. "They certainly seemed to think it was a waste, everyone guarding the inside of the castle."

"It's not," he countered bitterly. The bite in his tone made her glance at him severely.

"No. It's not, is it?" he stared at her and she pulled her legs beneath her. "The Doctor and I… we can help. We've dealt with this sort of thing before," her tone was consoling, but a look of guarded fear entered his eyes. Benjamin Fenhouse shook his head.

"You don' understand. This… 'tis not normal witchcraft. We've had a monk purge th' palace," he cringed. "I can't talk t' you abou' this. Th' Prince Regent specifically said…"

"The Prince Regent was not anticipating us, Benjamin. Something is wrong here. I can tell. We can help you. Once the Doctor gets back…" the man looked up sharply.

"Where is your Doctor?"

She winced, "he… went out for a bit. Just a stroll about the city."

Benjamin Fenhouse grimaced. "Fantastic. Now two faux-witch hunters are running about Brigh'on swingin' their crucifixes to an' fro."

"The Doctor is not a witch-hunter!" she snapped indignantly. But the man had clenched his jaw.

"Let's get you back t' your room where you can't hurt yourself anymore. An' I'll be posting a man outsi', so don't even think abou'…" he trailed off as a commotion erupted in the other room.

"Oi! You can't be in here!" cried aman with a heavy Northern accent.

"I'm missing someone," replied a quite-harried, but incredibly familiar voice, "have you seen her? Blonde hair? Big brown eyes? A bothersome tendency to get into gobs of trouble?"

"Doctor!" Rose jumped to her feet. The door flew open and a very anxious Doctor stood in the frame with his hands in his pockets. Benjamin rolled his eyes.

"There you are," the Doctor breathed out, relieved. His mouth spread into a wide grin as she ran toward him, but the restrained gratitude in his eyes lead Rose to believe there was something beside her disappearance that troubled the Doctor. She forgot her concern as she sank into the plush fabric of his big, trench coat.


	13. In Which The Doctor Acts Strangely

"I told you to stay put!" chided the Doctor, after pulling away from their long hug. He was examining the bump on the back of her head and the cautious way he pulled her hair away from it reminded her of the way her mother used to check for ticks on holiday in South Wales.

"You most certainly did not! You said 'Oi, I'm off to go get us clothes'," the Doctor had to smile at her gruff attempt at mimicking him, "which, yeah, I've noticed you don't have! And then you hopped out the window, nearly scared me to death, and took off to go investigate on your own." She could practically feel his scowl forming.

"I did not go off to investigate on my own. I really did go to find the TARDIS," he muttered. But his tone implied that he had not reached it.

"What did you find?" There was silence from behind her, Benjamin sitting on a stone bench in the cell with an amused half-smile on his face. "Ow!" she exclaimed as the Doctor pressed down on the bump harder than necessary.

"I don't think you have a concussion," he murmured, letting her hair fall back into place. "Just try not falling on it again for a while, eh?"

Rose rolled her eyes, "yeah, I'll keep that in mind." He smiled.

"How did this happen, anyway? Pick a fight, Rose?" he glanced at Benjamin questioningly. She shook her head, turning away from the grey wall to face him.

"No… it was… a woman in white. I can't exactly remember what happened, but I don't think I entirely knew what was going on in the first place. I saw a lot of… light." A pallor had fallen over the Doctor's face.

"Light?" he clarified. She nodded. "What color light?"

She scoffed, "what does it matter, what colo—

"WHAT COLOR, ROSE?" she fell back against the wall, her shoulders cold against the stone. He'd never, NEVER yelled at her like that before. His eyes were wide and his black pupils nearly erasing the dark brown irises, and she couldn't tell if was out of fear or out of regret.

"Blue. It was blue," she whispered. He watched her stand and dust her skirts off, his face oddly empty, as if he'd just been told his TARDIS had been totaled. Rose bit her lip, her heart still beating like mad. "Right. If you don't mind, I've had a long night…" she murmured, nodding to Benjamin as she reached for the door handle. Her wrist was caught by a cold, white hand.

"Wait," he said softly. The Doctor seemed to be holding her especially gently, maybe to make up for yelling at her. "How did you get that?" he was staring at her left eye curiously. She raised an eyebrow, but brought her hand up to touch the skin beneath her eye gingerly with her fingertips.

"Ow," she flinched as her cheek throbbed. She pulled a make-up compact from her pocket and brought it up to her face. There, the skin was purple and blue and livid. She could almost laugh. "I haven't had a black eye since middle school." She tried to remember how it had gotten there. She'd been so focused on whether or not she'd bruised anything important in her brain that she hadn't had much time to feel anything else. "I think I bit someone," she mused.

A scoff sounded from the other room. "You're bloody right, ya did. I've go' th' teeth marks ta prove it." A balding man appeared, his face hard and square like Benjamin's, but not as youthful. He was closer to her mum's age.

"So you struck her, then?" it was the Doctor that spoke.

"Wouldn't you?" replied the man, holding up his hand. There was a curved, red and white indent on his palm. About mouth-sized. Rose was glad, in this moment, that the Doctor had regenerated. With the old Doctor, the guard's violent retaliation would inevitably garner some kind of unfortunate fate, but this new one was a bit more forgiving.

At least, that's what she thought.

She winced at the collision of the Doctor's fist with the guard's face. The man stumbled backward, tripping over an overturned chair and landing on the floor. She had to look over her shoulder to see Benjamin Fenhouse's reaction, as the Doctor had taken her wrist again and was leading her out of the room. Fenhouse laughed as he watched his comrade try to pull himself to his feet while shouting expletives. He nodded to Rose as they left, a subtle frown on his lips.

The basement corridors were colder than the ones upstairs and Rose pulled her hair forward to cover her bruised eye as much as possible, worried he would do something else equally un-Doctor-like if he was reminded of whatever had come over him in that cell. They were quiet as they climbed the winding staircase and Rose began to feel that she was missing an enormous piece of the puzzle. He kept glancing back at her worriedly, as if she was going to turn to dust in front of his very eyes or something.

"You don't have to fight my battles, you know," she finally muttered. They'd stopped at the door of their room. He glanced at her as she stuck the key into the door awkwardly, unsure of which way to turn it.

"Remind me of that, next time," he finally answered, and Rose could hear a bit of good humor returning to his tone. He shook out his wrist, his fingers waggling loosely. "It was like punching a brick wall. I forget how hard you humans' bones are sometimes."

"Yeah," Rose volunteered, "and how we can handle getting punched in the eye every once in a while. It honestly doesn't hurt. You didn't need to do that," but the Doctor did not seem to be convinced.

"Hammurabi's Code. An eye for an eye."

Rose frowned as she pushed the door open. "That's a human code, Doctor," she whispered. "Since when do you adhere to human codes?" she turned to face him, but it did not seem he was going to answer her.

"I'm going to go have another look around. It's almost a decent hour, anyway." Rose glanced at the rays of light just beginning to peek through the window. "You catch up on your sleep. I want you in tiptop shape for this ball tonight," he grinned, but there was still that uneasy edge to his stare. Rose was about to protest, but all that came out of her mouth was a stifled yawn. She smiled.

"Mmkay," she murmured. He nodded toward the bed and watched her slip beneath the covers. She blinked as he leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead before leaving. That was new. Rose bit her lip.

Something was most definitely wrong.


	14. In Which Rose Attracts Men Like Flies

It was very, very bright outside when Rose Tyler awoke, and it took her a minute to remember why her head hurt so much. She felt too warm beneath the heavy covers, now that the sun shone in the blue sky. What time was it?

She quickly sat up in the bed as she caught sight of the pretty, olive green dress that lay across the armchair in the corner. She smiled. He had remembered, after all. She pulled off the rumpled, dark red dress and held her hands above her head as she slipped the new one on. She pulled at the bodice and rolled her shoulders back to fasten the hooks.

It looked rather nice. She smiled. Much more ladylike, anyway. Her neck was itchy and she remembered the kimberlite necklace. She couldn't very much pull the thing over the lovely lace collar, but she didn't want to take it off, either. She rolled her eyes and smoothed the orange string out underneath the dress. She could handle some discomfort.

The hallway looked far less foreboding in the daylight, and Rose decided to turn right this time, not intent on meeting up with the lady in white again.

"If I were a Time Lord," she muttered, "where would I be?" she headed toward the echoing voices at the end of the hall. The Doctor tended to be where things were the loudest. Another set of stairs greeted her. She regretted wearing heels.

"Ah! Lady Rose!" Rose turned to see the maid from the night before hurrying after her. "I was wondering when I might see you betwixt the other guests!" The girl seemed familiar, as if she had seen her since they had parted.

"Umm… yeah. I had a late night."

The maid giggled, "I should think so, such a handsome man you've got." Rose could literally feel her face burst into flames.

"No! Not with that!" she yelped. "He's… we're not… we didn't…"

The girl looked frightened. "Oh! 'M sorry for my frankness, miss! I hones'ly don't know what came over me!" Rose grinned at the girl as her accent slipped.

"Your last name's Fenhouse, innit?"

The girl blinked. "Elizabet Fenhouse, miss," she whispered.

"Are you related to Benjamin Fenhouse?" Rose asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. The girl nodded.

"He's m'brother," she seemed not to care about maintaining a proper parlance anymore. Rose smiled.

"I thought so," Elizabet seemed to be trying to make heads or tail of this comment. "Have you seen my 'handsome man' anywhere?" The girl seemed relieved.

"Actually, I saw him hangin' abou' with a man who 'rrived a few days ago. A Sir Robert Peel? Bu' that was hours ago." Rose grimaced.

"Right," she muttered. "Thanks." Elizabet nodded uneasily, and as Rose disappeared down the stairwell, a strange, blue light flashed across the maid's eyes. She blinked it away quickly and returned to folding the towel in her hand, her eyes trained on the blond woman as she disappeared.

"Not yet," she whispered. A buzzing noise thrilled the pit of her stomach, making her hair stand on end. She grinned as the buzzing escalated. "Soon, she will be like us."

The stairwell opened up into a wide, echoic room that seemed to parallel the enormity of the Great Hall. There were three wide oaken tables that ran through the room, lined with varnished, cushioned benches on either side. A long buffet-style counter cut through the north wall, laden with all sorts of heady breads and browned, steaming beasts.

The large crowd was broken into factions, like an office party they all stood around and laughed shallowly, their wine glasses shuddering in their hands. Rose was immediately swept up by a kindly-looking elderly man who'd quite obviously had too much to drink. He was halfway through telling her a rather drunken account of a duel between him and some Lord Castlereagh when a familiar face surfaced in the crowd.

"…the bloody coward missed on the first shot! I, of course, had been distracted, but the second shot and I'd been hit in the leg…" recounted the old man.

"Mr. Fenhouse!" she called. Her words did nothing to dissuade the man from telling his story. Benjamin turned his head and grinned when he saw her, quite labored, under the man's heavy arm.

"…went down, but not 'fore pumping another shot at the fellow. Bloody Dutch-lover…"

"Ah, Mr. Canning, I 'ave to borrow your lovely 'ccompaniment for a moment, if you don' mind," Benjamin nodded calmly at the old man and Rose tried not to snicker.

"Not at all, m'boy!" Canning replied, clapping him on the shoulder. He said his goodbyes to Rose, who still hadn't the slightest idea who he was, and went off to regale some other poor bloke with stories of Parliamentary scandal and the pungent aroma of aged whiskey. Rose and Benjamin exchanged an amused glance.

"Who was that?" she finally broke, a laugh evident in her voice.

Benjamin sighed, "George Canning. British ambassador. Jus' returned from Portugal."

"George Canning…" Rose grinned, "I did a report on him in primary school."

"Where is your Doctor?" he asked, a bit too interested. Rose bit her lip.

"I honestly have no idea. I came down here to find him," she sighed. Benjamin nodded, satisfied.

"Took off without ya, eh?" Rose grimaced. "Well, I'd be happy to give y' a tour of the palace."

Rose smiled lightly, noticing for the first time since she'd met the young man that he was actually quite attractive. You know. For someone who… wasn't the Doctor.

"That'd be really nice," she answered shyly.


	15. In Which There Is Much Alien Babble

The first three rooms had availed nothing in the way of clues as to the Kreolines' purpose in infiltrating the palace. However, their scouring informed the Doctor that 19th century women's undergarments were really very different than they were in the 21st. Or in the 37th, for that matter. Which was really rather strange, as the 37th century was renowned for its recycling of many of the 19th century fashion trends. As he held up yet another pair of ridiculously large bloomers that had lain, folded, on the inhabitant's bed, he tried to picture Rose in a pair. A grin worked its way onto his face. She would look positively absurd. Some human fads, he could never even begin to understand.

Yet another miss, however. He blew the air from his cheeks as he sonic-ed the door behind him, threading his long fingers behind his head. Only three more disappearing aristocrats to investigate and not a single thing in common.

Benjamin Fenhouse had hardly been very helpful when the Doctor'd gone back to visit him in the morning, but he'd at least given him the names of the missing guests and promised to look after his sentient trouble-magnet of a companion for a bit. Not that the boy had seemed altogether loath to complete the second task, however. The Doctor wondered why that thought sent a pang of something akin to jealousy through his chest.

It had all started a few weeks ago, from what the Doctor had deciphered. Once the guests started arriving, the number of those afflicted went up. All women, oddly. His thoughts nearly circled worriedly back to Rose, but he kept them unnecessarily direct, not trusting himself to stay away from her if he figured out that she was in any sort of immediate danger. If what happened to the host in the alleyway was any indication, every life in the palace was possibly in danger at the moment. He winced. He had to worry about those who weren't already affected.

The women who disappeared were usually within about 20 hours of each other, if he were to take into account the proximity of their rooms to other potential hosts. According to those who'd accompanied them, they started acting strangely around the 18 hour mark. Only two hours before they disappeared. That was probably when the Kreoline obtained full control of the human's brain and motor function.

The Doctor had never encountered a pod of Kreoline taking on human hosts. They generally avoided infecting bipedal beings, as their dominant life spans were considerably shorter within the hosts. So why had these parasites taken to the residents of the Royal Pavilion?

"Problems?" The Doctor very nearly jumped at the rich voice of the red-haired man behind him. He most definitely should have been paying better attention. The tall man was wearing a black, period suit and held his hands deep in his pockets, much the same as the Doctor's own stance. The Doctor glanced awkwardly between the two before hastily pulling his own hands out of his pockets.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Could you tell me where the loo is? I'm a bit out of sorts, in this big palace and whatnot. I'm used to my… living situation. Which is much less…" he gestured with his hands lamely, "…enormous." The tall fellow stared at him for a moment, as if sizing him up.

"Don't you have a bedpan?" the man asked, suspiciously. Rats. Foiled by 19th century plumbing. Or rather, the lack of.

"Er… yeah. Yeah. I do." The Doctor reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "But, other side of the building and all that. Ah well, if you can't tell me, I'll find a tree or something. Pip pip, Cheerio and all that rot." The man folded his arms squarely and his mouth set obstinately. If it weren't for the fancy clothes, the Doctor would've believed he was one of the guard staff. "Don't suppose you know Benjamin Fenhouse? No? Sort of a familial resemblance going on. 'Round the scowl area. No?" he exhaled in mock surprise, "Reeeeeally? Well. All you humans look the same to me."

"Who are you?" the red-haired man demanded. "Are you the one who took my wife?" The Doctor's eyes widened. "Well? Where is she!? Where is Ellen?" The man took a menacing step forward.

"Quickly, when did she disappear?" the Doctor grabbed hold of the man's shoulders. He blinked.

"About an hour ago. She was in the room with me, and then she just ran out," his resolute scowl seemed to falter and then vanished entirely, fear filling his eyes. "I followed her, and all I could find was a pile of her clothes and…" he sputtered, eyes seeming to dare to overflow with tears, "Oh god. Her skin. Her face…" he broke down into dry sobs.

The Doctor clenched his jaw. Too late to save her. But maybe he could help whoever had been infected by her. "Did you see anyone else around?" he demanded, "Especially another woman?"

The man's eyebrows pulled upwards, confused. "I… yes. Mrs. Fitzgerald. But I don't see how…"

"Right," the Doctor cut in, "where is she right now?"

"Preparing for the ball, I would imagine," he sputtered.

"Right," the Doctor nodded, bouncing a little as he turned in the direction of the stair. He stopped. "I'm sorry about your wife," he murmured, starting off again stopping and turning to face the man this time. "I'm the Doctor, by the way." He held out a hand and the man grasped it with such desperate force that the Doctor half expected his arm to pop off.

"Peel. Robert Peel."

A grin spread across the Doctor's face, "Brilliant!" he crowed, finally turning to leave. A familiar looking maid smiled politely at him in the hall as he practically skipped past, hands in his pockets. He turned his torso to face her as he went. "I just met Sir Robert Peel! Very important man, you know! Going to be Prime Minister one day!" And he was off again. Blue light flashed across Elizabet Fenhouse's eyes.

"Not that one," murmured the girl. The buzzing sounded angrily within her. "He's… wrong."


End file.
